My First Apocalypse
by SionnachOghma
Summary: A sequel to ReganX's 'Tacos and Tea Parties'. Seven-year-old Fred, alongside her bizarre adopted family, finds herself uncomfortably on the front lines as dark forces threaten the survival of humanity.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note I: **As the summary points out, this story is a continuation of Regan X's _Tacos and Tea Parties_. I'd like to point out for those who read that story when it was originally posted, we made a change to the ending, *****Spoiler Alert – have you read **_**Tacos **_**yet?*** **bringing Fred and Connor onto the scene of Holtz' death just a few seconds earlier, allowing him to witness the old goat's final betrayal. Killing Justine for her part in Holtz' plan, Connor made to run away, but was convinced by Fred to return home with her. *****Spoiler Ends*****

**Author's Note II: **On the relationship between Connor and Cordelia as it happened on the show, I have only this to say: Ew. Never.

* * *

**Chapter One  
**

**Heatwave**

The afternoon L.A sunshine glared down on Fred and Connor as they crossed the garden of the grounds of the Hyperion. The once ragged and overgrown garden, now frequently tended to by a loosely supervised Fred, who had torn up some of the myriad rows of mangy old roses in order to plant herbs and other small plants for mixing potions – something she did under much stricter supervision – smelled like a cross between an old country kitchen and the first flames of a wood fire. Fred suddenly remembered hearing of wildfires that had begun in Santa Barbara that morning. Though she knew there wasn't much chance that her garden was going to spontaneously combust, at least not by natural causes, she made a note to herself to use more water over the next few days to keep her hard work from drying and dying under the heat wave currently assaulting southern California, making even a normal L.A summer seem chilly and grey.

Connor lagged a little further behind the closer they got to the main doors, where Fred stopped to wait for him. She reached for the handle, but Connor grabbed her hand. "Are you sure they know?" he asked apprehensively.

Fred gave a solemn nod. "Someone would have called them before you left," she told him, her tone sympathetic.

"Maybe there was nobody here," Connor suggested desperately. "Maybe there was a message left, and they haven't…"

"It's daytime," Fred pointed out, as if any reminders were needed, "and even if they had to go somewhere through the sewers, they would have let us know."

Connor pulled a small mobile phone from his pocket, confirming glumly to himself that nobody had sent him any messages throughout the day. "I should give them time to cool off. I'm just gonna take a walk, or something…"

"You grew up in hell, where they called you the Destroyer; and _this_ you're too scared to face?" Fred scolded, trying not to laugh at her elder brother's sorry predicament.

"Well, wouldn't you be?" he demanded.

"You're damn right she would," came a yell from behind the doors, "and you should be too!" Connor took an involuntary step back out of the shade, to be stopped by another furious roar. "Don't even think about it! Get your butt in here now!" Fred gave him a half-pitying, half-encouraging smile, and pushed the doors open.

Angel was waiting at the bottom of the steps just inside the door, arms crossed, his expression furious. Off to the side, the Groosalugg stood by the weapons cabinet, observing anxiously, as if expecting sudden violence and wondering whose side he was supposed to be on, while Darla and Cordelia were sitting next to each other on the circular sofa, with similarly amused half-smiles. Behind the counter, a decidedly bored Gunn held the phone to his ear, distractedly asking the caller why she was so certain a demon was possessing her Pomeranian.

The moment they were inside, Fred dashed past Angel to where Darla and Cordy sat, leaving Connor alone with his father.

Angel waited expectantly for what seemed like a very long moment, but Connor said nothing. "Well?" he demanded before the silence threatened to take physical form a start a fight.

"It wasn't my fault," Connor blurted defensively. "I ignored everything he was saying; I was walking away. Then he just tackled me and started throwing punches for no reason!"

"Fair enough," Angel shrugged, suddenly seeming much calmer. "But you could easily have dealt with him just a _little_ more delicately. Wrist fractured in three places, two cracked ribs, a broken ankle…and I don't think I've ever heard of the victim of a schoolyard fight needing a _proctologist_ afterwards."

"Okay, you make it sound like…"

"You broke his _ass_!" Angel snapped, shooting a glare at Darla and Fred, who had erupted into sudden fits of giggles. "I figured in my time I'd done pretty much everything you can do to a person; but a broken butt? That's a new one on me!"

"So what would _you_ have done?" Connor shot at him. "You think I should have just put up with it?"

"Of course not, but you have to draw a line somewhere!"

"Or at least make sure the little punk is scared enough to keep his mouth shut when they ask him who beat him up," Darla chimed in.

"Not! Helping!" Angel snarled at her through gritted fangs, before rounding on Connor again. "His parents already called to let me know they were suing us for every penny they can get out of us."

"I'll go empty out that piggy bank in the office," Cordelia announced solemnly. "Eight whole dollars; may it bring them much happiness."

"No, with our luck, they'll probably go hire Wolfram & Hart, after which the best case scenario is we all wind up on the street."

"Well, how about while we're still here we try and get some work done?" Wesley asked, appearing in the doorway behind Connor.

"Real work, or demonically possessed rat-dogs? No, ma'am, I'm sure the pedigree _is_ in very high demand, though I don't think they're all that high on _demon_ wish lists, except maybe as appetizers."

Wesley spared a confused glance for Gunn before handing the thick paper file he was carrying to Angel. "Do you recall the McNamara brothers?"

"Do I _recall_ the jackasses who tossed me into a demon Thunderbowl and forced me to fight other demons under pain of death? Y'know, I think I might need a reminder."

"A tad snippy today, aren't we? Has he been fed yet?" Wesley asked the room.

"I don't know, but he skipped his nap mid-afternoon nap," Cordy told him. "That always makes him cranky."

"Hey!"

"Well, it seems that Val Trepkos and several of the other demons who escaped when we put the McNamaras out of business banded together afterwards. It turns out they've been working as muscle-for-hire ever since that night. They kept a fairly low profile, until last night, when they did this."

Angel opened up the file; his face screwing up in disgust at the photograph at the front of the assembled pages. "Charming," he noted, passing the file onto Darla, who briefly flicked through the photos with no apparent reaction before handing it to Cordelia, angling the folder so Fred couldn't see the contents. "Who were they?"

"The Svear priestesses," Wesley explained. "The last descendants of a very powerful line of practitioners in works of protection, the imbuing of powerful magical properties into weapons, tools and talismans, and journeys between the mystical realms. Well known for their ability to banish destructive forces from this world."

"How do you know it was the fight club guys?" Cordelia asked.

"One child survived; hiding in the basement. I couldn't get in to speak to her, but she described the attackers to Kate Lockley."

"Kate?"

"Yes. It seems she went into business for herself after being dismissed from the police force. Most of her work involves more ordinary affairs, but she's looked into a few cases involving vampires and demons. And of course," Wesley noted, "her contacts in LAPD are much better than mine. She had no trouble getting in to talk to the girl."

Angel glanced past Wesley. Fred followed his guys, but there was nothing to see. "Is there any particular reason she's not coming inside?" Angel asked.

"She will, once she's done on the phone. In the meantime, I have an idea of where the demons might be found. I called around to a few different spots where a group like this might hang out, or meet with perspective employers. The owner of a bar in Chinatown was a little too evasive, especially when I mentioned the priestesses."

At that moment, Fred saw who they were talking about. A woman stepped inside behind Wesley, her eyes moving slowly around the lobby, pausing ever so briefly first on Darla, her eyes narrowing slightly, then on her. Her blond hair was cut very short, and her left cheek had three long, thin scars, as if she had been scratched by either small claws or large nails, but Fred thought that she would have been very pretty if not for the massive dark circles under her eyes.

"Kate," Angel greeted her. "You look…" he hesitated slightly.

"Like I haven't slept in three days?" the woman responded with a strained smile while trying not to yawn. "Yeah. It's been a busy week."

"Lucky for some," Gunn grumbled, slamming down the phone in disgust.

"Well, if Trepkos and his buddies are running around doing _that_ to people, I think we just got pretty busy too," Angel remarked. "But first things first," he added, rounding on Connor once again. For his part, Connor lost what optimism he'd gained at the thought of hunting a pack of demon mercenaries when he realised he hadn't been forgotten as he'd hoped. "Don't think for a second that being expelled means you're exempt from education. Welcome to the wonderful world of home-schooling!"

Connor just shrugged with resigned disinterest. "Whatever."

"And you're grounded until further notice. That means no going out with your friends…"

"What friends?"

"…no T.V…."

"I don't watch T.V."

"…and no hunting."

"WHAT?!"

"Yeah!" Angel exclaimed triumphantly. "See what happens when you break the rules? We're going hunting badass demon mercenaries, and you're staying here with Fred and Lorne."

Kate observed the whole bizarre exchange with a very confused look on her face.

"Got the address for that bar?" Angel asked Wesley. "Right, I know it. Darla and I will take the sewers. There's an alley behind the place that shouldn't be getting any sunlight at this time of day. We'll meet you there. What about the kid who survived? Any chance they'll try to go after her?"

"I doubt it," Kate told him. "There were pictures of the whole family all around the place, and they didn't even try looking for her. I guess whoever hired them was only worried about the grownups. Plus, I know the precinct Captain where they're keeping her. He owed my dad some pretty big favours; I convinced him to keep the part about the kid as quiet as possible."

"You coming with us for this one?"

Kate shrugged. "A whole bar full of demons is a little beyond what I'm used to, but if I can be any help, sure."

"Alright. Knives, stakes, maces, short axes and crossbows," Angel said to the Groosalugg, who was already plucking an armful of weapons from the cabinet. "Leave the long blades; I don't think we'll have that much room to maneuver if things get dicey. Lorne!" he yelled up the stairs. "You're babysitting!"

Fred couldn't make out the reply that came from Lorne's room, but Angel seemed to, and nodded satisfactorily. "Alright, you two, try and stay out of trouble for a couple of hours. No mixing potions unless Lorne's watching what you're doing," he reminded Fred, who nodded, "and no sneaking out," he warned Connor, who sulked.

Five minutes later, Fred and Connor were sitting alone in the lobby, while Lorne was in the office with a client of his who had been upstairs with him before the others left. The mousy young woman finished singing in a low, slightly scratchy voice, and Lorne began talking to her in a hushed tone. Whatever she'd come to ask him about must have been pretty interesting, because Connor, despite being twenty feet from the closed door, seemed to be listening with definite curiosity.

Fred pulled her schoolbooks from her bag and set them down. She opened her math book briefly, but then closed it again, remembering that she'd meant to tend to the garden. "You wanna help?" she asked Connor.

"I'd rather you teleported us to that bar," he suggested. "We could be finished and back here with answers before the others even got there."

Fred shook her head. "They'd know it was us. And besides, Daddy said these guys were pretty dangerous. If they're at the bar…"

"It'll be even more fun than if it's just a few vampires and loser demons."

"You're already in enough trouble. Do you want Daddy to start locking you up every time he goes out?"

Connor grumbled under his breath.

"Well, if you don't want to help me in the garden, I guess you could always just stay in here and read," Fred suggested lightly, knowing that sitting around with a book might well be the only thing that would bore him more than gardening.

"I'll go fill up the water can."

"Thanks!" said Fred, smiling widely.

Connor had no sooner disappeared inside the kitchen when he came rushing back in response to an ear-splitting scream from Fred, who was crouched, terrified amongst the rows of plants.

The garden had spontaneously combusted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**Unconventional**

"Could you go back to the start? You kinda lost me at 'Angel's kids'."

Wesley sat in the passenger seat of Kate's old Landrover, while the others followed closely in Angel's car. "Well, as I said, Fred's adopted…"

"Because Angel rescued her from some monster world, and her real parents are dead," Kate finished for him. "What about the other one?"

"We're still not quite sure how Connor came about," Wesley admitted, clearly annoyed at having no more definitive answer. "Angel and Darla fell into bed together back when Angel was having what I suppose passes for a nervous breakdown when you're a vampire; but as for how two vampires can actually have a child, it seems that part may always be a mystery."

"Okay. What about the fact that he's what, sixteen, seventeen?"

"Not long after he was born, Connor was abducted by Daniel Holtz, a vampire hunter who had a grudge against Angel. The pair were sucked into a hell dimension, where time moves rather differently than it does here. By our reckoning, he was missing for just over two weeks; for him it was years."

"So the kid escapes hell, comes to L.A, which probably wasn't as big a change as he might have expected, and asks what room is his?" Kate asked disbelievingly, speeding up to beat a changing light.

"Actually, he returned with the very firm intention of killing both his parents and bringing Fred to Holtz."

"What went wrong?"

"He realized – eventually – that Holtz hadn't been entirely honest about who his parents were, and that he was no more to the old git than a tool to be used against Angel. Finally, Holtz killed himself, trying to make it look like Angel had done it, but Connor saw it happen. Fred convinced him to come back to Angel and Darla."

"Speaking of Darla…"

"Another _mystery_," Wesley told her, biting at the word. "The theory is that a lingering fragment of Connor's soul clung to Darla even after the pregnancy. I don't think she's entirely what you might call 'good'; in fact, if not for the children, I imagine we'd have to stake her."

"Hell of a family," Kate commented as she tried to digest all the new information.

* * *

"I just can't put into words how delighted I am that Mrs. Spock is now an honorary member of our little family," Cordelia remarked sourly.

"Mrs. Spock?" Groo echoed. "Is that her title among her fellow warriors?"

* * *

Darla and Angel came up from the sewers in the alley only moments after the cars arrived, moving quickly from the manhole, which was partially exposed to the sunlight, into the shade by the building walls. Wesley and Gunn were handing out weapons as requested from the trunk of Angel's car, while Kate checked her own. Taking the proffered machete from Gunn, Angel took note of what Kate was carrying. On one hip she had a combat knife and a stake; on the other a pistol and extra ammo clip. Angel eyed the flare gun she was loading.

"Sometimes it's a hell of a lot more effective than a pointy piece of wood," Kate responded when he asked her about it. "Useful against more than just vampires, too.

"What movie d'you steal that from?" Gunn asked.

"Can't remember. I've tried a few different tricks. Some worked better than others; for example, don't ever waste your time carving crosses into the tips of bullets. All you get is one seriously pissed off vampire. I got one whose nails were even sharper than her teeth," she added, indicating the thin lines on her cheek.

"You think a flare gun in a bar is a good idea?" Cordelia questioned archly. "Alcohol, fire, highly flammable vampires? They don't tan well, in case you're wondering, and I'm trying to avoid becoming human firewood too."

"Safety tip number one; don't stand too close to the shelves full of alcohol," Kate suggested with much more acid in her voice.

Cordy's eyes narrowed, and she stalked off towards the side door of the bar, fuming quietly.

"Sorry," Kate muttered to Angel. "You get snippy when you don't feed; I turn into a bitch on wheels when I don't sleep."

"I do not get _snippy_!" Angel growled at her, throwing in an annoyed scowl for Wesley, who shrugged innocently.

"Can we please just go inside and start hurting things?" Darla put in.

Angel was the first in the door, followed immediately by Gunn and Kate, then Darla and Wesley. Finally Cordelia, then the Groosalugg, who had been holding the door open, glanced quickly around the alley to make sure there was no external security waiting to follow them inside, before walking in and letting the door slam behind him.

The dozen or so within hadn't exactly been noisy before they noticed the fang gang, but the dead silence within once they spotted them made the previous atmosphere seem like a riot.

"Well," Angel enthused, "I guess there's no need for us to introduce ourselves." He looked quickly around at the patrons, all in varying shapes, sizes and degrees of ugliness. Two of them were vampires, sitting up at the bar and scowling back at them. Angel recognised most of the species of demon around the room, including the only one who may pose any real threat in a fight; a broad-framed, mostly skeletal creature with pinpricks of purple light where his eyes should have been, and several rows of narrow, pointed teeth, which he displayed in a hiss directed at Kate, whose flare gun was aimed vaguely in his direction.

"I'll make this quick and easy," Angel announced. "We're looking for Val Trepkos, his buddy Kreb, and anybody else who might be running with them."

"It might also be helpful if anyone can tell us who they've been working for recently," Wesley added.

The vampires ceased their scowling and turned back to their drinks. Most of the others put on similar shows of ignorance, except for a pair of drakes in the corner, who glanced first at each other, apparently deep in telepathic conversation, then eyed the main exit nervously.

Nobody else made a sound, or moved in the slightest, until Darla brushed past Kate, and approached the skeletal demon. She held one hand behind her back, leaning on the small round table with the other. The lights in the demons' eye-sockets became brighter as she leaned towards him, and he sucked in his breath with a high, rattling hiss, clearly readying himself to attack.

"You got a name?" Darla asked him conversationally.

"A few," the demon responded after a moment in a high whisper. "None you'd be familiar with."

Darla raised her head, and called out, "Does anybody know this guy?"

The demon shook a little, making a sound that Angel had to assume was a chuckle. He looked over his shoulder at the other demons, none of whom would meet his 'eyes', except the drakes. "Why?" he asked Darla. "You tryin' to find out if we're compatible?"

Darla smiled at him a little too sweetly. "No. I was just wondering if anybody would have a problem with me roasting marshmallows on your head." Whipping her other hand from behind her back, she jammed Kate's flare gun in his left eye-socket and pulled the trigger.

The demon's shrieks of agony as he toppled backwards off the chair were almost high enough to shatter glass. As it was, Gunn, Kate and Wesley all winced in unison, while Cordelia closed her eyes and held one hand to the side of her head, as if the racket was merely adding to an existing headache.

Still screaming, the demon rose unsteadily, a ball of bright red fire where his head had been a moment ago. He rushed at Angel, apparently trying to get past him to the door, but a boot to the chest sent him flying backwards across the barroom floor. Not missing a beat, his screams now down to a series of pathetic whimpers, he scrambled upright once more, making one last effort to escape, this time through the street exit. He missed his goal by barely a foot, collapsing in front of the door where he lay twitching and burning, the occasional whimper still escaping as he took his time figuring out that he was dead.

Righting the chair the demon had been sitting in, Darla plonked herself down and crossed her legs, resting lazily with one elbow on the table, her head lulling against her open palm. "Now I don't know about these guys," she told her now captive audience, indicating her companions as the bartender took a fire extinguisher to his former patron, "but I came here hoping for a fight. I'd prefer to get a _real_ fight from the big bad mercenary demons, but if they can't be found, well I guess you losers will have to do."

The same dead silence that had greeted them upon arrival fell again.

"Got any more ammo for this thing?"

Before Kate could answer, one of the vampires at the bar spoke up. "Talk to _them_," he growled, jerking his head vaguely in the direction of the two drakes.

As soon as they realized they'd been sold out, the pair made a dash for the door. Angel and Darla caught them just before they could yank it open and let the sunlight in. "Yeah, somehow I figured you guys would be the ones to talk to," Angel greeted them.

"You can't hurt us, bloodsucker," one of the creatures rasped at him.

"What the hell are these things?" Gunn and Kate asked in unison.

"Drakes," Wesley announced. "The sprits of dragons summoned from another plane of existence. The beasts physical bodies – the ones with the leathery wings and very large teeth – can't cross over under except under very rare circumstances, and in order to affect the physical in this world, they need bodies, be it willing hosts, or fresh corpses, which they can reanimate. In return, they act as magical assistants. Their spirits are massive wellsprings of power, which can be drawn upon for spells requiring a great deal of raw energy."

"And, it's not entirely true that we can't hurt them," Angel added. "'Cos you guys can't leave these bodies willingly, right? You only get forced out when someone does enough damage. And then you're not able to enter a new body without any help, and you can't just fly away home either."

"Destroying these bodies won't help you find who you're looking for," warned the drake who'd spoken before. He lifted his head slightly, allowing them to see underneath the hood of the black cape he wore. Though he looked mostly human, his eyes were blood red, and it sounded as if he was speaking with a forked tongue.

"Well, then we won't kill you," Darla promised, her lips curling into the same smile she'd given the skeletal demon just moments ago. "We'll just have fun with knives, fire, and whatever else is on hand until you start to feel chatty."

The drakes glanced briefly at each other, silently debating their options. Then the one Darla held suddenly hooked one foot behind hers and threw his weight against her, not quite knocking her off balance but loosening her grip enough for him to quickly produce a long, bronze dagger from under the folds of his robe. Darla's reaction, bracing herself to grab the weapon once attacked, proved somewhat unnecessary when the creature instead turned the weapon on himself, plunging the entire length of the blade into his chest.

The other had different ideas. As the fang gang dumbly observed his companions hari kari, he leapt up at Angel – leaping because he was a full foot shorter than him – and head-butted him in the face with a loud crunch. The move clearly caused him as much pain or more than it did Angel, but it didn't slow him down. Wincing and hissing as he moved, he flung the door wide open.

Angel roared in pain and fury as the sunlight flooded in on him before he was tackled into the shadows by Kate. The drake dashed into the street with Gunn and the Groosalugg in hot pursuit.

"Thanks," Angel grunted absently as he and Kate scrambled to their feet.

"Don't mention it," Kate told him, wrinkling her nose and adding, "Ugh, you smell like overcooked steak and singed hair. Now I _really _need a shower."

"Think they'll catch him?" Wesley asked indicating the open street while Darla angrily kicked the corpse of the first drake.

"I doubt it. Drakes are pretty quick on their feet."

No sooner had he said the words, than Gunn appeared in the doorway. "Guy whose body he got must've been a helluva track star. He runs faster than I drive.

"Where's Groo?" Cordelia shot at him.

"Still chasing. He'll probably cover half the city before he admits he lost him."

The ringing phone in Angel's pocket cut the conversation short. "Yeah?" he barked into receiver before the first ring had passed.

None of the others could make out Lorne's muted voice or what he was saying, except Darla. Before Angel had said anything, she'd already disappeared out the back door into the alley, and was yelling at the others to hurry up.

* * *

Fred sat curled up in Lorne's lap, shaking like a leaf with her face buried in the jacket of his canary yellow suit. She didn't look like she'd been burned, but there were scorch marks on her clothes, as there were on Connor's. While Darla was gently lifting Fred out of Lorne's arms and into her own, Angel shot a questioning glance at Connor, who whispered a brief response too low for human ears. Angel nodded, then turned to Lorne.

"You didn't see anybody? Anything to set it off?"

Lorne shook his head. "By the time I even made it across the lobby, Wonderboy had already pulled her out. The whole garden just went up like a napalm storm. Definitely magical, and this was no pissy little teenage witch flexing her muscles. Someone put a lot of power behind this. The munchkin wasn't the only one getting toasted today."

He pointed towards Angel's office; there was no sound coming from the television, but the pictures spoke for themselves. "Couple of dozen fires all over LA County," Lorne continued, "and it looks like more are cropping up. No spark, no gas, just flames. They're finding bodies. No idea how many, but this is just starting, so there'll be a lot." He looked down at his tearstained jacket, and a slightly grieved look flashed across his face, but one glance at Fred and he seemed to forget all about it.

Connor moved around Darla and held up a glass of water. Fred took a small sip, choking a little, then drank a little more. "Any better?" he asked. Fred said nothing, but gave the tiniest of nods. Connor looked at her a little oddly, and Angel could tell what he was thinking. In the entire time he'd been here, despite tea parties, stuffed animals and dress-up, this was probably the first time Fred had ever really seemed like the very young girl she was. "You know," he told her, grinning, "if you'd just teleported us to that bar, we'd have been a lot safer than we were with gardening."

Fred chuckled a little. It was a dry, pained sound. She reached out for the glass again, taking a bigger gulp.

Angel slapped Connor on the shoulder to get his attention. "You tried to convince her to take you to that place?" he growled, before Darla cut him off.

"Angel," she hissed. It was a whisper, but she put enough force behind it to stop the impending rant in its tracks. "Not now." Gone was the gung-ho, bloodthirsty woman who less than twenty minutes ago had wanted to pick a fight with a bar full of demons just to pass the time. This was the Darla who had taken to Fred every bit as much as if she'd given birth to her alongside Connor, and who right now suffered along with her daughter.

The screech of tires outside announced the arrival of the cars. Fred hopped down from her mothers' lap and walked slowly towards the kitchen to wash her face and dry her eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: I'd like to thank those who've reviewed and otherwise taken an interest thus far. I can promise there'll be plenty more of mother-hen Darla in the future, though I should warn that I have a somewhat natural bent towards darker places than one might expect for a sequel to Regan's story. **

**As for _Becks_Rylynn_'s question on pairings, I have a pretty good idea in mind of where things will be going, but I'd like to point out with the pace I have in mind for the near future, the pairings aren't likely to begin presenting themselves until I get into Season 5 territory. I plan to take this story through to where the show ended and a little beyond, and for the time being I don't want to risk pairings becoming a bigger driving force than the actual story. I will say this; some of my choices may seem surprising.**

**Finally, I'd like to thank my good friend ReganX, as you all know the author of _Taco's, _who also acts as an unnofficial beta for me in pretty much everything I write.  
**

**

* * *

  
**

**Chapter Three**

**Demon Resource Management**

"Alright, so what do we know so far?" Gunn asked as Connor, the last of the group, squeezed into Angel's already cramped office.

"Well, those two drakes are on the same level as Trepkos and his guys," Angel surmised. "They'll do pretty much anything for the right price, which in this case seems to be the equivalent of a green card. Apparently, home ain't so sweet, so I'm assuming their deal with whoever hired them includes keeping the bodies they're in after the job's done."

"The job most likely being some form of summoning, considering the slaughter of the Svear priestesses," Wesley added.

"What about the fires?" Connor put in. "You think they're connected to the magic the drakes were hired for?" Beside him, Fred gave the tiniest of shudders.

"I'd imagine so. Even in Los Angeles, it might too much of a coincidence for two events of such magnitude to be occurring simultaneously. The priestesses were an important family in the magical world, and beings like drakes would only be required for some of the most powerful magic imaginable. Even the power required in helping them cross over and gain bodies would be quite considerable. Drakes haven't been widely used in magic since the Old Ones reigned, back in the days when an apocalypse was a weekly occurrence."

"So whatever it is they were hired for has got to be huge. Would the priestesses home be a place to start?" Kate suggested. "A family who lives for magic like that might have something that could tell us what we're looking for."

"That's possible," Wesley agreed. "There may a collection of journals, possibly even a communal Book of Shadows containing records of all their works, assuming Trepkos and the others didn't take them."

"I don't think they did. I asked the kid, Taylor. She said she didn't see them take anything with them."

"Alright. Wes, Kate, you guys search the house, see if anything sticks out."

"What if there's nothing there?" Darla asked. "There has to be another way to find these guys without having to scour the city inch by inch."

"I don't know," Angel admitted. "If Trepkos has been working as a mercenary in L.A for the past couple of years, there's a good chance Wolfram & Hart have kept tabs on him, maybe even hired him once or twice. If we hit a dead end, I could always try getting answers out of Gavin and Lilah."

"I don't know if Lilah Morgan would be all that cooperative," said Kate. "She's got more to lose these days. I take it you didn't hear?" she added, responding to the blank faces around the room. "She got promoted. Her old boss, Linwood Murrows, seems to have dropped off the map. His wife reported him missing a few weeks back after he went to work on a Tuesday and hadn't come home by Thursday. When LAPD went to talk to his colleagues, Lilah was already moved into his old office."

"Well," said Angel after a moments' consideration, "that's less than ideal. Lilah doesn't scare as easy as Murrows. But that still leaves Gavin. He's the chatty one, anyway. Let's try the house first. Maybe we'll get lucky."

Gunn and Kate stood to leave, but Fred, biting her lip a little before speaking, announced, "I think I can find them another way."

Angel and Darla shared a look that clearly showed they already knew they wouldn't like this. "How?" Angel asked eventually. Behind him, he was dimly aware of Cordelia shifting her stance uncomfortably.

"Wes said the drakes work with super-strong magic, right? If they're that powerful, I think I can follow the magic they use. If they're casting any spells, or if whoever hired them is using them to work other magic, there _should_ be a way to follow it back to them."

Angel turned to Wesley for his support in shooting down any idea that had his seven-year-old daughter hunting magical dragons. "It is quite likely that if something as powerful as either of those drakes uses their powers for even the most insignificant of spells, they can be tracked on the Astral Plane," Wesley conceded. "But it's far too dangerous. If the drakes sensed anyone trying to find them, Fred wouldn't be able to defend herself against their attacks. The effort required to protect herself while simultaneously tracking them is something she's never tried before is a hundred times more trying than anything Fred's ever done. I wouldn't expect anything less than a full coven of impressive power to even attempt it."

Fred was undaunted. "But, if we had someone really powerful who could do keep up a protection shield, then it would be safe, right? Someone like those ladies who made the sanctuary spells for Caritas?"

Angel and Darla groaned in unison, but this time Cordelia cut in. "You may not remember, honey, but Caritas got blown away. Doesn't say much for the Furies' magic."

"There was never anything wrong with their spells," Fred insisted, practically bouncing on the spot in excitement at the prospect of trying new magic, her terror at earlier events forgotten. "And I've read some stuff about them in Wesley's books. They were three of the most powerful witches of their time, and that was before they cut a deal with Hera to live forever. They've had thousands of years since then, probably getting more powerful all the time."

"Remind me to pay more attention to what she reads from here on in," Angel grumbled to Darla. "Okay," he continued. "Kate, Wes; the house. Search it top to bottom, bring back anything that looks like it might help us out. I don't care if it's bolted down. Gunn, you and Groo start asking questions around town. You know all the likely spots. Start at the edge of town. Something tells me they're not gonna be too close by."

All four rose simultaneously. Angel turned to Cordelia with further orders, but stopped. "You alright?"

"I don't know," Cordy muttered, swaying slightly on the spot. "Been feeling a little off all day. Dizzy, headache. It'll pass."

"You may as well go sleep it off. I don't want to leave this place unguarded anyway. You'll hang around, too?" he asked Darla and the Groosalugg in turn, knowing that Groo wasn't going out on the streets if Cordy was ill, and Darla didn't want to let Fred out of her sight for the time being. "I'm gonna go congratulate Lilah on the promotion.

"And," he grumbled, glancing worriedly in Fred's direction, "if none of this comes to anything, I'll go look up the Furies."

Fred beamed up at him, Connor regarding her with an amused and decidedly impressed expression.

* * *

The crumbling old warehouse had been home to a few drunks and a few dozen rats before Trepkos and his companions moved in. The drunks had wasted no time in making themselves scarce upon the arrival of half a dozen demons, and the rats had fled even more quickly once the drakes showed up a week later.

The remaining drake sat slouched in a mold-infested old armchair the demons had pulled from a dump when they decided their stay here might not be temporary enough to make sleeping on the floor all the time a comfortable prospect.

The demons sat in other haphazardly arranged pieces of mismatched, filthy furniture, except for a tall, antlered creature with massive round eyes who hunched over a small makeshift fire, cooking scraps of meat. He scooped some into a burger bun using his bare, shovel-like hands, and held it up. "Who wants?" he growled.

Tom Cribb leaned forward, bright green eyes narrowing suspiciously as he sniffed the air, snakelike nostrils flaring. "What is it?"

The antlered demon narrowed his own eyes to the point where they were only the size golf balls, as opposed to tennis balls. "You eat bugs," he spat. "Where do you get off being picky about what meat I cook?"

"Just don't see why we can't order pizza," Cribb moaned. "It's not like there aren't plenty of places in this city that won't take a demon's money."

Val Trepkos, half-dozing in the next chair, answered without opening his eyes. "We're supposed to be laying low," he reminded Cribb, not for the first time. "We can't be getting food delivered here all the time, and if someone gets spotted outside, it'll take all of five minutes for the rest of us to be found."

"If only you could have been so security-minded when you were actually on the job as you are when you're here doing nothing," an annoyed female voice immediately behind Trepkos drawled.

Everyone but Trekpos and the designated chef suddenly sat up much straighter in their seats. "You didn't hire us to babysit," he barked over his shoulder. "It ain't our fault that moron and his buddy couldn't sit still for an hour while the rest of us were working."

"And what about the job I _did_ hire you for?!" Trepkos was suddenly yanked forcefully over the back of his chair and dropped unceremoniously on his feet. Cordelia's image shimmered slightly in front of him, her features mangled by rage.

Trepkos didn't have time to wonder how what looked like a mere projected image had managed to physically pull him up as she had. "What happened at the Svear house?" Cordelia demanded.

"What?" Trepkos shrugged, not quite as calm as he'd felt a moment earlier. "You told us to kill the priestesses. They seemed pretty dead to me."

"Except for the little girl who told Angel's cop friend everything she'd seen at the house. They're out combing the city right now, looking for you!"

"Well, you never mentioned a kid. We offed the older women, 'cos that's what we were paid for. The kid wasn't part of the job."

"So you just left a live witness to tell all?" Cordy snapped. "What happened; your morals get in the way?"

"No," Trepkos reasoned. "My survival instinct. And my wallet. You kill a kid, and every cop in town, even the ones you could usually pay not to care, is suddenly out for blood. That's why kids cost extra. If you want us to go deal with her now…"

"Yeah, right. Like I'm gonna unleash you morons on a crowded police station. You'd probably go and sign your names on the login sheet."

The cook looked up from his fire to snarl in Cordelia's direction, and he wasn't alone. Trepkos' lips drew into a tight grimace. He managed to hold back on what he wanted to say for exactly two seconds, before he gave up on patience, but then he barely managed to get the beginning of a word out of his mouth before Cordy snarled back at all of them, surprising her entire audience with how much meaner she managed to come across as than the assembled hired killers.

"It doesn't matter now, anyway," she said once they'd all shut up. "The kid's done all the damage she's gonna do." A folded piece of paper suddenly appeared in her hand, not shimmering as she did. She tossed it at Trepkos. "The Furies. That's their address, and instructions on how to get in. You probably don't have very long before Angel goes there, so don't waste time getting creative. And this time, if there are any witnesses, I don't care if it's a kid, a little old lady, or a goddamned squirrel. You _deal_ with it!"

Suddenly her expression changed. She glanced over her shoulder in mild irritation. "I have to go. Don't screw this one up. Before disappearing, she turned to the sullen-looking drake, who cringed a little. "Get your idiot friend back into a new body. And I don't care how long it's been since you've been able to move around on this world," she hissed. "You sit tight until I tell you otherwise. I don't want this whole thing pissed away because you just couldn't wait to awandering!"

The image flashed brighter for an instant, then vanished.

"This job can't be over quickly enough," Cribb commented as soon as she was gone. "That chick gives me the creeps."

* * *

Tapping gently on the door before entering, the Groosalugg spoke in a roaring basso whisper. "Princess?" he called out in concern. "Are you well?"

Cordelia didn't answer. She merely turned over sleepily, mumbled nothing in particular, and continued her light snoring.

Groo watched her for a moment before closing the door as gently as he could. Cordelia couldn't quite suppress a self-satisfied little smirk once she was alone again. Her hand moved unconsciously towards her stomach, gently stroking her belly as she drifted gently into genuine sleep. She dreamt of fire and blood. Of masses screaming and dying while the others, her loyal servants and soldiers, bowed before her in equal parts fear and love.

It was a good dream.

* * *

"Well, as always, Gavin, you've been a veritable font of information. None of it any use, but hey; I'm glad you could have me over." Angel leaned down and straightened the semi-conscious man's tie. Gavin groaned painfully in response, lazily reaching up to rub a bloody cheek with the sleeve of his suit jacket.

He exited the darkened office, and stopped to grin widely at Lilah, who was waiting outside with four burly security guards, all armed with wooden stakes. "Lilah!" he exclaimed delightedly. "I was hoping we'd run into each other." He paid no attention to two of the guards walking past him into Gavin's office. "Did you get my gift?"

Lilah gave an approximation of a smile, screwing up her eyes and showing a lot of teeth. "Yeah; the exterminators are dealing with it at the moment."

"Well, tell 'em to watch out. The lab I got those little guys from – they were messing with some crazy stuff. Clients of yours, right?"

Lilah bit the inside of her cheek. Whatever response she'd had in mind was lost as the guards reappeared with the bloodied, beaten Gavin held up between them, whining pathetically as he was hauled off. This time, her smile was much more genuine. "I hope he was more use to you than he is to me." She turned to the remaining guards. "Show him to the street. No need to bring him downstairs first. We've seen how easily those windows are broken." With that, she turned on her heels and walked away, coat slung over her arm, apparently done for the day.

The two guards looked first at Angel, then at each other, silently debating whether or not they should attempt to carry out Lilah's order.

When Angel walked out the main doors a few minutes later, the sun hadn't quite set, but was low enough to be lost behind the mass of skyscrapers all around. He plucked a mobile phone from his pocket, trying Gunn first, who so far hadn't been able to turn up anything.

Wesley wasn't much more confident. As he'd expected, there was one massive tome belonging to the priestesses which detailed much of their work, and some individual journals. However, given the lengthy history of the family, the sheer volume of their work was massive, and with no idea what it was the Svear Priestesses had done or were expected to do that had led to their deaths, there was no way of knowing what it was they were looking for.

Stopping for a minute to curse and complain to nobody in particular, Angel finally pounded out the number to the hotel. Lorne answered on the second ring. "Where are the Furies hanging out these days?"

* * *

The cemetery was one of the older ones in L.A., and featured a large number of proper crypts in addition to the rows of simple headstones and variations on the cross and numerous other symbols.

It was towards the largest of these crypts that Angel moved. A steel gate had been replaced by a simple wooden door which had since been placed by another wooden which in turn was replaced by another. Eventually someone had decided there was nothing left for the graverobbers to take, and that stopping kids from hanging around the crypts and getting hammered was more trouble than it was worth. The stone archway stood unblocked. The unnatural darkness within dimmed even Angel's vision somewhat. A cold breeze rushed past him from within.

Standing stock still only inches from the doorway, he closed his eyes and began to chant the words Lorne had recited to him. He repeated the incantation three times, and at the end of the third recitation, bit sharply into his hand and flung droplets of blood towards the darkness.

When he opened his eyes, the archway was no longer dark. A searing white light filled the stone hollow. Throwing up his bloodied hand in front of his eyes, he began to walk forwards. He barely had time to register that something else was blocking the light when the something else, initially no more than a shapeless dark blob, became Val Trepkos.

Apparently Trepkos couldn't see very well, either. Just before Angel could reach the threshold, Trepkos slammed into him at a run. Angel was floored instantly as Trepkos' extra-dense skull collided with his own. Not missing a beat or losing his footing, Trepkos kept on running, gaining speed in the open. He never looked back, but continued to charge on as if his worst nightmare was in hot pursuit.

By the time Angel was on his feet again, Trepkos was nowhere in sight. Confusion gave way to concern and curiosity, and he turned back to the still-lit archway and dashed inside.

The moment he appeared in the vast, snow-white amphitheater on the other side of the portal, he saw that the concern, at least, had been totally unnecessary. All around the massive arena, a small army of men in ancient dress were engaged in Olympian sports training. Off to his left, a large wrestling pit of blood-spattered sand was occupied with no fewer than ten men who seemed hell bent on tearing each other apart. Angel had to duck as a javelin whizzed by his head, then ran quickly ahead to get out of the firing range.

He ignored the other activities going on around him as he sought out the Furies. It didn't take long to find them. They sat on slightly raised pedestals in the very center of the arena, and the men exercising closest to them all bore vaguely distracted looks. As Angel walked towards them, he saw one guy drop a massive metal shot on his foot, then make a fairly heroic effort not to squeal in agony as his toes were crushed to powder. It didn't work, but still; a good effort.

Angel was impressed that they could even try to focus on a task. The Furies had been blessed by Hera for more than just their magic. Between the masses of curled hair of various shades, brilliant and almost constant smiles that suggested all manner of playfulness, and long, Greek-style dresses that covered the girls' bodies almost completely while still managing to leave almost nothing to the imagination, the Furies didn't need to use any magic to draw in the hoards of men who found themselves consumed with no other desire than to impress and pleasure the Furies. Not that they didn't bewitch quite a few of them anyway just for the fun of it.

The Furies giggled in delighted conversation as one of them reached for a small, sickly green stain on her not-totally-transparent-but-pretty-damn-close white dress. The stain evaporated under her touch.

"That-one-won't-be-back-in-a-hurry," the Furies laughed together. Every time one of them got a word out the other picked up the sentence, alternating from one girl to the other from one word to the next. "All-the-better. Far-too-unattractive-to-keep-around."

Just in front of the ornate stone pedestals they sat upon, a large, sizzling green puddle the same shade of green as the stain melted slowly into the dirt. Several similar puddles of different colours lay nearby. Angel was suddenly very aware of why Trepkos had been in such a hurry to leave.

Sidestepping the puddle-o'-Cribb, Angel greeted the Furies with a wide smile he couldn't be quite sure didn't look ridiculous. "Girls," he said brightly. "Miss me?"

Despite the straight walk from the portal to the centre of the arena, and the fact that he was standing directly in front of them. Three sets of dark eyes centre in wicked, sultry grins turned on him in unison. "Mmmm," the girls chorused excitedly. "Angel!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**Potential**

The moment the Furies entered the hotel, their eyes fell upon the sloppily painted, half-faded red pentagram in the centre of the floor. They moved silently, gliding along and spreading out around the edges of the circle. Once in place, the trio closed their eyes and began whispering in unison, the language of the incantation unfamiliar to Angel.

Angel sought out Wesley in the office. "The Furies agreed to help out. They said that if they include a couple of us in the spell, the drakes won't get anywhere near Fred, although those of us helping out should probably expect some trouble."

The black leather-bound book Wesley had taken from the Svear house looked like it might weigh more than him. He looked up from it briefly, leaning forward to see what the Furies were up to. "A five-point elemental shield," he nodded. "With the Furies involved, it should provide perfect protection. Would you like me to take the fifth position?"

Angel shook his head. "It's Fred. If she's really going to do this, I gotta be involved. And I'm pretty sure you'd have to fight Darla for the other spot, and no offence, but I don't think that'd be a very long fight."

"Neither do I," Wes told him with a grim smile. "I found something interesting here," he said, flipping through the myriad pages of the book. "The Svear priestesses were even more entrenched in the good fight than I knew. This book covers hundreds of exorcisms and banishments; they've featured in a few minor wars against the demon world, and one major one. They worked with the Watcher's Council, which was something I never knew, and it seems they were even an unofficial ally of Rome."

"Well, once we track down the drakes, making them talk should be pretty easy. These guys are only good for ritual magic, right? A straight-up fight…"

"Utterly hopeless. They couldn't magically light a candle without some preparation."

"Good."

"However," Wesley continued sombrely, "I have a feeling they won't be able to tell us much." He found what he seemed to be looking for in the book, hefted it up and passed it to Angel.

Angel looked down, and saw nothing but two blank pages. He glanced up at Wesley in confusion. Wesley simply indicated for him to turn the page. The next two pages were also completely unmarked.

"What am I missing here?"

"Nothing at all," Wesley remarked significantly. "Once the entries reach this point, they simply stop, glance over those four pages, and then continue on uninterrupted. There are no other gaps anywhere in the book."

"So?" Angel shrugged, trying not to worry about what he suspected that meant. "Maybe the pages were stuck together, and they didn't notice."

Wesley stared at him over the frames of his glasses, saying nothing.

"Dammit," Angel growled after a moment. "Alright. So, the drakes, or maybe their boss, erased all evidence of whatever is they're summoning from the book."

"And they did it without actually needing to take the book," Wesley added. "Which means this was a wide-reaching spell, most likely designed to erase all recorded information relating to their target. I highly doubt that someone would go to so much trouble to cover their tracks, and then share all of this information with the drakes. All they really need to know for the summoning is the name of their target, and an approximate idea of where the priestesses banished it to. Telling them any more than that would be a risk."

"This just keeps getting better and better," Angel huffed. He distractedly cast his eyes around the lobby. The Furies still stood around the symbol on the floor, murmuring dreamily as they prepared… whatever the hell it was they were preparing. "Where's Kate?" Angel asked after a moment.

"I dropped her at her apartment on the way back from the Svear house. She was so exhausted she could barely stand upright. She said to let her know when it was time to go after the drakes."

"I don't know if letting her get too deep into this is a good idea," Angel said, more to himself than to Wesley. "I know she can handle herself pretty well; I just don't think she's ready for the big stuff."

"Well, then she's in good company," Wesley pointed out. "When's the last time we weren't in over our heads? It hasn't stopped us yet. Your seven-year-old daughter was almost killed by a magical backdraught today. Over seventy people actually _were_ killed. And now Fred's about to take the lead in tracking down the creatures responsible. Also, if it weren't for Kate's contacts in the police department, we probably wouldn't even know who we were looking for."

"We _still _don't know who we're looking for," Angel reminded him. "Not really. No idea who the drakes work for. No clue what they want. Oh, and Trepkos is probably halfway to Mexico by now. The Furies kind of… liquefied his pals."

"So we're losing leads, and any possible advantages, all the time. This isn't the time to ignore a potential asset."

Angel didn't respond. Dropping the book back on the desk, which groaned slightly under the weight, he exited the office and saw that the pentagram no amount of scrubbing had been able to remove from the floor was gone, only to be replaced by another, much neater design. The size was roughly the same, but the new pentagram was a bright, glittering silver that no paint could have imitated. Immediately outside the circle, at each point on the star, the symbols of the various elements were depicted, and beside each stood a large, white pillar candle, none of which were currently lit.

Angel shook his head. "That one's never gonna come out," he muttered.

The Furies themselves were gathered around Fred, who for her part was looking more than a little uncomfortable under their scrutiny. She sat in Darla's lap, her mother's arms encircling her gently. Connor sat next to them, trying not to stare at the Furies.

"Impressive-for-one-so-young," the Furies remarked. "This-one-has-wonderful-potential."

Fred smiled nervously at the compliment.

"Perhaps-if-we-could-take-part-in-her-training," they mused.

Darla cleared her throat loudly, knowing full well that the Furies' idea of training would involve a lot more than magical education.

Before Angel could intervene, the phone rang. A distracted Gunn managed with a little difficulty to peel his eyes off the Furies and answer it. "Angel Investigations, we..." a sour, exhausted look crossed his face. "Yes, Mrs. Winters. No. I'm sorry, ma'am, but we really don't have anyone available..."

Angel placed his hand over the mouthpiece. "Does Mrs. Winters sound like she can afford to pay?"

Gunn looked at him desperately. "Please tell me you're kidding."

"Pomeranian. That's a two thousand dollar furball, right?"

"And the dollar signs behind your eyes are reason enough to play along with this?" Gunn challenged.

"I got two kids to feed," Angel pointed out. "Look, obviously the dog isn't actually possessed. Tell the lady you'll go out to take a look, and that there's a minimum fee to consult."

"Our minimum fee being?"

"Ask Cordy before you go. I'm sure she has plenty of numbers in mind."

The woman on the other end kept talking the whole time, totally unaware that nobody was listening to a word she was saying.

Angel noted the frightened tenor of her voice. "Bring a weapon, so she knows we're for real. And before you're done, recommend she talks to somebody at one of those stupid doggy-discipline schools or whatever. It costs nothing to provide a little peace of mind."

"Something tells me when I ask Cordelia she's gonna tell me it costs a five hundred dollar minimum."

"From champion to con artist in the blink of an eye," Wesley enthused as Gunn made his way upstairs. "Who _is_ this mysterious crusader?"

"Shut up," Angel muttered. Connor and Darla chuckled a little.

* * *

"Catch you at a bad time?"

Trepkos turned his head in mid-sprint, tripped on a stray trashcan lid, and just barely caught himself of crashing head first into a pile of garbage. He limped on a twisted ankle, swearing under his breath as he turned to face the image of Cordelia. The projection wasn't shimmering as much as it had the last time. Looking towards the end of the alley, Trepkos figured she was trying to tone it down in case a stray glance from a passer-by should spot a spiky, boneheaded demon illuminated by a glowing woman.

"Job's off," he spat. "I'm done; I'm getting the hell out of L.A."

"Without even saying goodbye? I take it you lost some guys bringing down the Furies."

"We _didn't _bring them down!" Trepkos spat, ignoring the darkening of the woman's expression. "They wiped the others out in less than a minute, without even paying any attention to what they were doing. They were chatting to each other about 'Desperate Housewives' the entire time! I barely got away."

Abruptly, Cordelia's gathering rage was gone, replaced by surprised amusement. She cocked her head and grinned at him. "How do you know they were talking about Desperate Housewives?"

"Because I wa…" Trepkos stopped, glowering, and said no more.

"So Angel's probably already brought the Furies to the hotel," Cordy murmured.

"Aren't you there with the rest of Angel's little pals?"

"I'm on bedrest right now. Not really feeling the best," she said, swooning dramatically. "Plus, it might seem a little strange if I kept running off so we could enjoy these little chats." She frowned for a moment, thinking.

"Aw, what the hell," she announced eventually. "All is not lost just yet. Got a job even you should be able to pull off, assuming a pack of matches or a lighter isn't beyond your skills."

"Forget it," Trepkos told her, as he made to turn away. "I'm outta here."

Cordelia sprang forward so quickly Trepkos never saw her take a step. One hand closed on his throat, gripping him like a vice, while a short dagger, its blade no wider than a pinkie finger, appeared in the other. She jammed the dagger in Trepkos' gut, burying the blade to the hilt.

He tried to yell out, but with the iron grip on his throat he could barely hear himself choking. He swung out in front of him, trying to knock Cordelia away, and through the black spots floating in front of his eyes, he saw his fist go right through her.

The attack ended even more abruptly than it had begun. Trepkos found himself on his knees, coughing and wheezing. The pain in his stomach was gone. His gaze followed his hand to where the wound should have been, finding nothing.

Cordelia waited patiently for her hireling to look up at her again. When he finally did, rising unsteadily to his feet to meet her eyes, he swallowed audibly, then breathed hoarsely, "What do you need?"

Cordelia produced a small slip of paper. "Go to this address. Wait on the roof of the building until you hear from me. You know how to pick a lock?" Trepkos nodded in response. "Good. Once it's time you should be able to slip in and out unnoticed. If you can't, you'll just need to be quick. I've seen enough to know better than to expect perfect results from you. All you need to do this time is cause enough of a distraction to keep Angel and company busy while the drakes work."

* * *

When Cordelia crept silently out of the bathroom a moment later, the Groosalugg was dozing lightly in a large, squishy armchair next to the bed. Moving as quickly and quietly as she could, she slipped into the hallway and tip-toed towards the stairs, coming just close enough to peer down into the lobby without being seen.

As expected, the Furies were there, and were currently guiding everyone into position for the spell. Gunn, his hubcap axe slung over his shoulder, and a sort of emergency all-purpose exorcism bag Wesley had once put together in one hand, bore a distinctly uncomfortable expression as he made for the exit. Wesley said something to him that Cordy didn't catch, laughing lightly. Connor sat on the counter by the currently unhooked phone. Lorne was nowhere to be seen.

Fred sat in the centre of the silver pentagram, with three large candles in a horizontal line in front of her; black on the left, a layered rainbow in the middle, and white on the right. Her eyes were closed, and drew measured, if slightly unsteady breaths. The Furies knelt around her, whispering instructions. One of them laid a hand on the little girl's shoulder, and Fred's breathing immediately slowed and steadied.

After a moment, the Furies moved off, and Darla knelt briefly beside Fred, whispering quickly for a second before kissing her on the cheek and returning to her position at one of the points on the star.

The Furies, Angel and Darla all stood, each picking up the large white candle at their feet, and closed their eyes.

"Let-us-begin," the Furies decreed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Apologies for the massive delay with this chapter. I made the pointless mistake of letting studying interfere with more important things. Won't be happening again anytime soon.

As always, thanks to ReganX for her input. Please R&R

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**Initiation**

A column of rainbow light soared by Fred as she rose upwards at lightning speed. The seven-tiered light was brighter than anything she'd ever seen. It took Fred a moment to realise she was actually _inside_ the column. The brightness of the light should have hurt her eyes and blinded her, but there was no pain. The light was warm, tickling her gently as she flew by.

The higher she rose, the more the colours seemed to blend together, until finally it all faded to white, and she became aware of her ascent slowing. When she came to a stop, Fred was floating miles over L.A.; but it was a totally different L.A. from the one Fred knew.

For starters, she could actually _see_ it. From this height, the real L.A would be almost completely obscured under a haze of smog, with natural cloud cover blotting out what the pollution didn't. Then there was the fact that the scene below her was so impossibly clean it actually sparkled. It was like a brand new construction, completely flawless. Fred didn't doubt that if she moved in for a closer view, there wouldn't be chewing gum on a single sidewalk, or nasty rush hour smells or even loud noises.

But it was the magic that made Fred's jaw drop. In every direction, countless shimmering threads in more colours than Fred knew existed crisscrossed all over the city, like a magical patchwork quilt. The threads seemed to be made of light like the column that had propelled Fred upwards above the city. Without thinking, Fred reached out a hand towards the weave.

Although the threads looked as if they were miles below her, the moment she extended her hand the patchwork moved closer, shooting skywards until it was in reach. She gingerly grasped the nearest thread; a pale, powdery pink. A baby's delighted giggle sounded in her head.

Jumping back in surprise, Fred found herself giggling in response. She laid her hand over another nearby thread, this one a bold, rich purple. She blinked as she touched it, and when her eyes opened, she was hovering in midair, in a hospital operating room.

Directly beneath her was an old man with his chest cut wide open, while a woman who looked too young to be a real doctor took a needle and thread to a tear in some red, squishy-looking thing leading out from the top of the old man's heart. Fred thought about some of the other books Wesley kept alongside the old magic books; the medical texts and folk medicine collections and fairy tales. She'd read bits and pieces of most of them. Staring down at the old man, she tried to picture the diagrams of the heart she'd seen in the medical books, but it looked almost too different in real life, if not as gross as she might have expected. _The aorta, maybe?_ she considered.

Abruptly, Fred remembered that she wasn't here to have fun. Right now, the Furies and her parents were standing around her in the hotel, working a protection spell to keep her safe from the drakes while she looked for them.

Releasing the purple thread, she found herself high above the city once again. She ran her eyes over the myriad colours below her, trying to tell one from the other, to guess at what each colour and shade might mean. There were just too many. Fred was still having trouble believing it. She'd always thought of magic as being spells and potions and rituals. It had never occurred to her that there could be so many other things that qualify as magic depending on how you looked at it.

Where was she even supposed to start? Before they'd begun the incantations, the Furies had checked and rechecked that she remembered the Greek words they'd had her memorize. They explained to her what they meant, and told her that she'd have to speak them exactly as they'd been spoken to her when she was greeted by the one who would guide her.

The way they'd said it made it sound as if this person would find _her_; they never mentioned her having to search.

_So why is nobody else here? _she thought, beginning to worry a little.

"Of course we're here, silly child." The voice from immediately behind her would have made her jump out of her skin if she weren't already floating miles above her body. As it was, she nearly squealed in fright. There definitely hadn't been anyone there a second ago. Spinning around, Fred saw standing in front of her a tall, pale woman, staring haughtily down at her with piercing, shiny black eyes. Short curls of hair as dark and glistening as her eyes framed a smooth, totally unblemished face with a smallish nose and not-too-full lips.

Fred supposed the woman was beautiful. The eyes were too creepy for her to say for sure.

"Who's _we_?" she asked snootily, annoyed at being caught off-guard. There was nobody else there.

The woman seemed amused by Fred's bad mood. She cocked an eyebrow, then her eyes drifted over Fred's shoulder. "That's Nemea."

Fred followed her gaze. Turning her head, she found, barely inches from her face, a pair of massive yellow eyes staring directly into hers, framed by a wide muzzle with flaring nostrils and a large, shaggy red-gold mane. The lion rose lazily from its crouched position. It was as tall as a horse, and as wide as three.

The lion slinked around Fred and moved to the woman's side. Reaching up to run her fingers through the mane, she turned her eyes back on Fred. "And I am Hera."

Fred felt a tightening around her throat at the name. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound apart from a dry, pained gasp emerged. Her eyes darted from the woman to the lion, who bore remarkably similar expressions of amusement and curiosity, like she was a new toy they were trying to decide whether or not they liked.

Abruptly, Fred's thoughts turned angrily to the Furies. They'd lit a bunch of candles, had her memorise a few words in Greek, and then sent her off to meet with a goddess without a single word of warning, like it was nothing at all.

_What were they thinking, those stupid bi-_

She stopped herself, realizing suddenly that when Hera first spoke to her, she hadn't been responding to a question Fred had asked aloud. She'd heard her think it. She swallowed audibly as she met the goddesses' eyes again. Whenever Fred was in earshot of any bad words being spoken, her mommy and daddy – well, usually just her daddy - tended to get mad about people not watching their language around her. She thought it was a little silly that after everything she'd seen, as well as everything that had happened to her that people were worried about naughty language, but she was careful never to repeat what she heard.

It occurred to her that Hera would be less than amused about her saying – or even thinking – such words when it came to her favourite servants. The moment this occurred to her, however, Hera laughed.

"Yes," she chuckled. "It was rather underhand of them, if somewhat necessary. I highly doubt that the blood drinkers would have been so willing to allow you to come here had they known you would be standing before a goddess."

Unbidden, images of what she'd read of Hera in Wesley's books came to Fred. Hercules, forced to battle some of the most terrifying monsters in all of Greece, including the massive lion only a few feet from where Fred now stood; Hephaestus, thrown from the top of Olympus because of his ugliness…

The reverie was interrupted by an exasperated sigh from Hera, who began grumbling under her breath. Fred caught snatches of words like 'millennia ago,' and 'still complaining'.

Fred took a slow breath, trying to clear her mind, to think of nothing at all. It wasn't easy – as soon as she tried to stop thinking of anything in particular her mind seemed to spill over with all kinds of random thoughts – but Hera seemed to appreciate the effort. On the goddesses' left, Nemea gave a couple of quick snorts. Fred couldn't be sure, but it seemed like he was laughing.

Hera ignored him. "Nemea will assist you in locating the spirit mages you seek," she told Fred. She paused a moment, looking her over once more. "I don't doubt we shall meet again," she added solemnly. "I look forward to seeing how you progress."

Fred blinked, and she was gone.

The instant Hera disappeared, Fred realised that in her shock, she'd forgotten entirely about the greeting the Furies had made her memorise.

Nemea forced his massive bulk upright, stretching his limbs. The action made his enormous claws all the more prevalent for the briefest of instants. He turned his bright yellow eyes on Fred, and a deep, growling voice sounded in her head. "Not to worry," the voice assured her. "She doesn't really bother with the formalities these days, unless she's in a foul mood and wants to remind people who they're dealing with."

Fred was beyond the point where a giant lion talking in her head was going to make her jump, but she wasn't eager to stick around any longer than she had to. "So how do I find the drakes?" she blurted out.

The lion leaned closer to Fred. His muzzle twitched as he sniffed at her. "You have been touched by their magic," he said. "Traces of their power linger on you. The simplest way to find the spirit mages is to use this residue as a sample. This done, singling out the trail of their workings will take but a moment."

* * *

Angela Winters lived in a tiny private suburbia just outside Santa Clarita, a forty-five minute drive from the Hyperion on empty midnight roads. Gunn's first thought was of a bunch of people living in constant crippling debt from trying too hard to _look_ like they had money. He leaned out the window his van, and entered the code Mrs. Winters had given him on the little keypad in front of the gate. The estate consisted of a single street with twenty largish houses, complete with well-groomed gardens, a little too compact to keep up with the charade.

Stopping at the end of the street and stepping out of the van, Gunn noticed the curtains moving at a neighbouring house to the one he approached. A man's pale, wide eyed face, probably fearing the repo people had found them at last, was illuminated by a street light. His initial expression was nothing compared to what it morphed into when he saw Gunn reach back into the van and emerge with his axe. His jaw dropped, his eyes widened even more, and Gunn saw him cringing in horror as he dropped the curtain and disappeared from sight.

The door opened up before he could knock. A reed-thin woman in her late forties, with short hair dyed blonde, stood in the doorway. "Mr. Gunn? I'm Angela Wint… What on earth is _that _for?!" she choked, staring at the axe. "You don't actually plan to use that thing on my Benji?"

"This is just for emergencies, Mrs. Winters. Company policy for any possible possession, but I seriously doubt I'm gonna need it here," Gunn told her, trying to sound serious and reassuring. "Although, I think your next door neighbour is about to call the police to report an axe murderer. Do you think you could let him know that won't be necessary?"

Mrs. Winters opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't quite seem to find her voice, and simply nodded. Turning, she indicated for Gunn to follow her, and strode into a large, ugly living room full of frilly furniture in salmon pink.

As Mrs. Winters moved towards the phone, a ferocious series of growls and barks began ripping through the air. Gunn turned towards a nearby door. It was closed, but Gunn could just about make out a shape behind it, scratching at the bottom of the door as if trying to force its way underneath.

The dog's snarls became more urgent as Gunn approached the door, then cut off suddenly as he clasped the handle. Gunn heard the pattering of tiny, padded feet as the dog backed away from the door.

The instant he shoved the door open, Gunn saw what looked like a small, furry orange missile streaking towards him, eyes glowing bright red like coloured light bulbs. Mrs. Winters' assurances to her neighbour that nothing was wrong turned to a shrill, piercing shriek as Gunn instinctively swung his axe around to meet the demon dog.

* * *

Fred held her hands held in front of her as if grasping the thread. It was the same inky blue, so dark it was almost black, as the tendrils Nemea had shown her on her own skin. The lion had explained that being caught in the blazing fire caused by the drakes' magic had left these temporary traces of the spell on her.

It had taken a bit longer than the lion had told her to find the thread on the million-coloured quilt laid over the magical map of L.A. She'd found countless threads that had the same colour or similar, but only one that had the physical effect on her when she got close to it. Her stomach was turning cartwheels, and the horrible taste in her mouth reminded her of a disgusting root she'd once tried while trying to survive the Pylean wilderness. The root had turned out to be mildly poisonous – her violent retching had attracted a hunter's 'dog', leading to her recapture and what would have been her execution had the crebil not wound up in Angel's hands.

Instead of showing a direct path to the drakes, the thread had led her all over the city, flying around in circles, doubling back, turning south, then east, then back again, for what seemed like an eternity. The queasiness increased with every moment, and the trail had begun to seem never-ending.

No sooner had Fred thought that she'd fall asleep and tumble right out of – wherever this was – before finding what she was looking for, than the thread disappeared inside a rundown old factory in an area Fred didn't recognise. Willing herself down to street level, she touched ground on the road outside the building's tiny empty parking lot. Fred couldn't really say why, but she had the sense that this place had been a demon haunt for some time. The same nauseating feel of the magical thread she followed here seemed to emanate from the building in waves, and she somehow knew that regular people had little or no presence here, as if they instinctively avoided the immediate area around the factory.

After a slight hesitation, Fred began to drift towards the factory, but halted when Nemea suddenly moved in front of her, barring her path. "No closer," the beast ordered. "They will sense your presence."

"They're definitely in there?" Fred asked.

"You tell me," the lion rumbled.

Fred grumbled under her breath, but turned her eyes back to the building. "How am I supposed to see them through the..." The thick, solid brick wall dissolved from sight the moment she thought of seeing through it. Inside, two robed and hooded figures knelt inside a painted circle something like the one Fred knew her own body occupied back at the hotel, with two major differences. The circle the drakes sat held two pentacles instead of one, facing opposite directions and crossing over each other like some kind of wiccan take on a yin-yang. Also the drakes symbol was painted with blood. She couldn't really have guessed from the colour – it was more brown than red – but Fred's eyes locked automatically on what looked like a pile of raw meat dropped carelessly in the corner. It took a second for Fred to realise what she was looking at, and when she did, the horrified cry left her before the image had fully registered in her mind.

The two ruined bodies, so mangled she couldn't even tell if they were boys or girls, couldn't have been more than five years old.

At Fred's side, Nemea growled ferociously. The drakes had leapt to their feet, and Fred gasped as two pairs of flaming blue eyes locked on her. Before she could even think of fleeing, the flames erupted, and drakes were gone, and Fred's scream was lost in the roar of the creature that stood in their place. The massive dragon, made up entirely of searing blue fire, glared directly at her, hollow black pits where its eyes should have been. It roared again, and charged.

"RUN!" Nemea bellowed, charging towards the flame-dragon, which was easily five times his size.

Fred turned on her heel, and the scene shifted instantly. She heard an agonised scream somewhere behind her, and glanced quickly back over her shoulder, but the scene was dissolving, shifting rapidly as Fred was propelled back into the air, coming to a halt only seconds later, right back where she'd begun her search, trembling and struggling to catch her breath.

The enormous lion appeared by her side after a moment, growling and cursing. Great patches of his fur were scorched black, and there was blood frothing around his muzzle, but he stood tall, pacing and keeping up a flurry of swearing. Fred couldn't make most of it out, except towards the end, when he grumbled through gritted, bloody teeth, "Where in Hades did they learn to do that?"

Fred was feeling somewhat steadier by then, and she stepped towards Nemea. She gingerly laid a hand on one of his flanks, near the worst of his burns. The lion flinched and growled a little, but the cursing stopped once he seemed to become aware of her again. "Are you going to be okay?" Fred asked him nervously.

"I'll live," the lion rumbled. He was clearly furious, but didn't act as if he'd been badly hurt. "The creature didn't tarry long; it just took a swipe at me and left. I think I might have hurt it – them – a little."

Fred suddenly remembered what she'd heard as she turned to run. "Who screamed?" she asked, her voice coming out in a squeak.

The lion looked confused. "I didn't hear anything." He cocked his head slightly, and hesitated before speaking again. "One of your defenders is missing from the circle. The shield is damaged."

"Missing?" Fred shrieked. "What does _that _mean?! Is someone hurt?" _Or worse?_

"Patience, child!" Nemea snapped at her. "I'll take you back," he added in a more gentle tone. "You remember how you got here?"

Fred thought of the pillar of light she'd flown up through, and as soon as she pictured it, there it was before her.

"Just step into the light," Nemea instructed. Fred moved towards the pillar, but he stopped her. "Wait a moment." His massive mouth closed gently around her arm to hold her back.

"What is it?" Fred asked, still shaky. She glanced nervously at the teeth gently gripping her wrist.

The lion released her and brought his head level with hers. "Close your eyes," he commanded in a whisper.

Fred did as instructed. She was still aware of the lion's head directly in front of her own. His large, wet nose touched against hers, and Fred felt had an odd sensation of something warm moving under her skin. A buzzing sound moved through her mind, and the thing under her skin seemed to settle at the back of her neck. She felt the lion move away, and opened her eyes.

Nemea stood a little distance away, regarding her gravely. "We shall meet again," he told her in a sombre voice. With that, he turned and faded from sight.

Fred hurriedly stepped into the light pillar the instant she was alone. The return journey was much quicker, and she soon found herself sitting on the floor of the hotel.

"Mommy!" Darla was slumped over, hissing and clutching a horrifically burned left arm. Fred leapt to her feet and ran towards her, but the Furies get there first.

One of them gestured to Fred to keep back as the other two crouched over Darla, who looked up to meet her daughters' eyes. "I'm okay, honey," she whispered.

Connor materialised behind Fred and placed a hand on her shoulder, his eyes on Darla. Angel stood by her side. "Were you hurt?" Fred shook her head.

The Furies gently placed a hand each on Darla's ruined arm, and began chanting in the same strange language they'd used earlier. When they eventually broke off and stepped away, her arm was bright red and scarred all over, but at least it looked like a human arm.

"We-can-do-no-more," the Furies told her. "It-must-continue-to-heal-naturally."

"Thanks," Darla muttered, flexing her arm and hand experimentally.

"Could you guys see everything that happened?" Fred asked.

Angel shook his head. "We heard bits and pieces. But apart from that thing coming at you, we didn't really see any of it. Are you sure you're all right?" he asked, looking her over to be sure there was no sign of any injuries.

Fred was dimly aware of an odd tingling on the inside of her right arm, as if she'd received a tiny portion of the burn Darla had absorbed, but she wasn't about to bring that up and cause even more fuss than she'd already been the focus of today. She kept her arm by her side in case there was some mark that would give the lie away. "I'm fine," she assured him. "And I saw where they're hiding." She described the old building, and gave the names of the streets on the signs she'd seen, but hesitated when she came to what the drakes had been doing. Her stomach churned at the thought of the murdered, mutilated children. "I don't think there's much time," was all she said.

"Okay." Angel turned to Wesley. "Can you grab the Grusalug, and check on Cordy? If she's up to it, we might need all hands on deck for this. We'll pick up Kate on the way. Are you gonna able to fight?" he asked Darla, who nodded, still twisting and flexing her burned arm. He turned to Lorne, who did the same before being asked.

"I'm coming too," Connor insisted.

"No. Someone has to stay here with Fred."

"We-will-remain-and-watch-over-the-girl."

Angel seemed unsure at first, then thought of the mess he'd stumbled upon at the Furies' arena. They were more than capable of keeping her safe for a while.

As Angel and Connor loaded up on weapons, Darla beckoned to Fred, who went to sit in her lap. "Tell me," she whispered.

Fred knew what she wanted to hear about, but couldn't bring herself to speak of it. "It's okay," she muttered, her eyes on the floor. She felt her mother's eyes on her for a long moment, but refused to meet them. She kept her tingling arm out of sight, and tried to blink away the tears as her mind drifted back to a pile of rotten meat that should have two young children.

Darla didn't say anything else, but her gaze never left Fred's face until Wesley came down the stairs along Cordelia and Groo. Fred hopped down to let her stand, smiling weakly. Hugging her tightly, Darla made towards the door, shaking her head a little when Angel caught her eyes.

Fred followed the rest of them to the door to watch them go. Angel bent down and kissed her on the cheek. "Straight to bed," he told her gently. "No staying up reading. Just get some sleep. We'll be back before you know it."

Once the cars were out of sight, Fred lifted her arm to examine it. There was a large mark, but not a burn as she'd expected. From her elbow to her wrist, a perfect golden brown rendering of a roaring lion adorned her skin. Fred felt her breath catch in her throat, then watched, dumbstruck, as the mark faded slowly, finally disappearing altogether.

When it was gone, she glanced up enquiringly at the Furies, but the question froze on her lips. The three women simply stood and stared, odd little half-smiles on their faces. Fred decided to do as she'd been told, and marched straight up the stairs to her room.


End file.
